While a fire was indeed lit beneath my posterior, it was another track from The Fat of the Land that truly did a number on me. While God was busy saving the queen, the New Romantics were sharpening up our act. Then Firestarter exploded like a snarling supernova and fused whirling breaks with panic room-pounding punk attitude, the likes of which never quite escaped the seventies. My beloved breakbeat had become way too breakneck by ’97 and largely replaced with techno thumps, with nary a snare or hi-hat in sight. So where was I when all this was transpiring? Well, having followed The Prodigy like a wolf on a season trail ever since their first EP, What Evil Lurks, in 1991, and been regurgitated from the rave scene in late 1993, when it all got a little too dark and dingy for my liking, I was painted in primer for something to reinstate my flagging faith in a scene that appeared done, dusted and busted by the old bill. But it was Keith who prowled the lens front-of-house like a pristine panther from 1997 forth. To be fair, the other band members had this virulent glare nailed down also. Should the eyes be the windows to said piece of kit, then Keith’s penetrating peepers were a pair of triple-glazed beach house patio sliders overlooking an endless stretch of white sands and the big blue caressing it. By speaking of a transcendental soul whom I knew intimately, without once actually meeting him “in person”. The worldwide web is at your fingertips, should you wish to read precisely what they wish you to read. Not by supplying the obligatory check list of facts and figures, shall leave that for the obituaries. Thus, I have decided to honour this fine English gentleman in my own way. When in truth, he was simply a fucking nice bloke. This iconic phrase was both blessing and curse to him as, while on one hand, it catapulted the rave outfit headlong into the major leagues, courtesy of the headlining single from their masterful 1997 long player, The Fat of the Land, that was the way the British media would refer to him forevermore. And, when this happened, Keith would playfully insist on a one pound forfeit being stumped up. Given that the pub had itself an authentic log burning fireplace and one of his daily tasks was to light said flame, it was only a matter of time before the word “Firestarter” was opportunistically chanted.
How’s this for an anecdote … When The Prodigy frontman, Keith Flint, became landlord for old English public house, The Leather Bottle, in 2014, one of his very first actions was to place a swear jar on the bar. I’m the fear addicted, a danger illustrated” “I’m the trouble starter, punkin’ instigator
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